By brookeshaden
From the sour scowl my mother wore, I knew she detested them. I wasn’t certain what the children were doing in the woods so late at night. The softest buzz of chanting could be heard. The faint scent of smoke and ash lingered. Was my mother right? Were they playing with the devil himself? “Witches! Whores!”My mother spat. I continued to peer outside my window, staring out into the black forest. “Stop staring! Is that what you want to become, Madeline? The devil’s whore?” I shook my head sternly. My mother stormed off, muttering prayers. A black smear was moving in the distance. I could see someone running. A blur of red, a dab of yellow. It was a girl. My fingertips touched the cool glass. What was she running from? Or, who was she running to?
– Ermisenda Alvarez
*image source: dreamworlds.ru
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What about God? 